Can't Fight This Feeling (Cabin Fever)

by Christie Ridgway

  The space was crowded and every eighteen inches or so they ran into someone Glory knew. She was greeted with affection and more than a few curious glances were cast his way. She introduced him each time, and the only thing he regretted about shaking hands was that it made him lose his hold on Glory.

  “I’m getting what it’s like to live in a small town,” he murmured to her as they examined some paintings by local artists.

  “You’re originally from the big city?”

  He nodded. “You seem to know everyone here.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She grasped his elbow and half turned him to face the passing throng. “In the red sweater? That’s my third-grade teacher. Over there is my high school principal. Doctor Joe retired a couple of years ago—he’s in the Rotary Club booth—but he treated every cold and also scolded me when he found me riding my bike without a helmet. It was a rigid family rule, and I would have caught hell from my folks if they’d known, but Doctor Joe kept my secret.”

  “I’m surprised you can have any secrets at all around here.” He glanced down at her face, thinking how the slight nip in the air had turned the tip of her nose the same shade as her kissable mouth. He swooped down to give her one, hot but quick.

  When he straightened, her hand was over her heart and her eyes had widened. “Wow,” she said.

  “Maybe I should have waited for a different moment—”

  “No.” She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaned her head against the side of his arm. “I shouldn’t tell you, but that was pretty darn perfect.”

  “You should tell me. You should tell me anything you feel like saying.” His conscience started jumping up and down again in his head, and he opened his mouth to reveal more of himself, but a middle-aged woman bustled up and began telling Glory a story about her daughter and granddaughter. Glory was caught up in it, smiling and laughing on cue.

  “I’ll have to get over to see Jules,” she said. “It’s been a week or two. Little Becca grows so fast that if I blink she’s an inch taller and has learned twenty more words.”

  “I know, I know,” the older woman said. “We shouldn’t miss a moment of it.”

  Kyle bent to murmur in Glory’s ear. “Be back in a second, going to get us some cider.”

  She beamed him a smile and continued her conversation.

  When he returned, two steaming paper cups in hand, the middle-aged woman had been replaced with a man, who looked like a local in his work boots, jeans and plaid shirt covered by a quilted vest.

  He was smiling down at Glory in a familiar fashion that stirred something inside Kyle. A little of his pleasure in the day dimmed. Still, he schooled his expression to one of mild interest as he met the other man’s gaze and put the drink in Glory’s hand.

  “Hi,” he said. “Kyle Scott.”

  “Stu—Stuart Christianson.”

  They shook hands and neither grimaced though their grips were overdone. “You know Glory,” Kyle said, stating the obvious.

  “Since preschool,” she said. “On the first day I kicked over his block tower.”

  The other man grinned. “I kissed her in retaliation.”

  Glory glanced up at Kyle, humor in her eyes. “Cooties were taken very seriously. Little boys were the carriers.”

  “The next time I kissed you, we were fifteen years old,” Stu said. “Remember, Glory?”

  “Sure. I had to wait twelve long years for another opportunity to catch something from you.”

  At that, the other man gave her a light punch on the arm, raising Kyle’s hackles. Not because there was anything the least bit violent in the action—it was the exact opposite. The gesture spoke of closeness, ease, affection.

  He hated it.

  “Well, see you later, kid,” Stu said to Glory.

  “See you,” she said.

  He lifted his chin toward Kyle, seemingly on his way, then he paused, his gaze shifting back to Glory. “January’s coming up, honey.”

  Kyle watched new color brighten her cheeks. “Oh, you.”

  “It’s been two years,” he added.

  “I can count.” She seemed disgruntled now.

  He shrugged. “Just saying...” His grin was cocky. “You need a date for New Year’s, you know my number.” Then he was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

  Glory turned back to the paintings and sipped as she seemed to study them. Kyle remained silent for about five seconds...then he couldn’t stand it any longer. “What was that all about?”

  She waved her free hand. “Stu,” she said, as if that was the extent of the necessary explanation.

  “Stu...what?”

  “We used to date.”

  “When?” Okay, this was like pulling teeth.

  “For a while, here and there.”

  “What’s the significance of January?”

  She slid him a look, went back to the paintings. “It’s kind of a joke. It seems like we always got together during that month. It wouldn’t last. Then time would go by and we’d start dating again...in January.”

  “How often did this happen?”

  Her shoulders moved up and down in a shrug. “A few times. Three.” Now she looked up at him and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “Can we please stop talking about the past? I’m here, you’re here, we’re together and it’s a beautiful afternoon. Let’s make the most of today.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly, taken in by her beautiful eyes, the mouth that he just had to bend and kiss again. She looked dazed at the end of it and whatever had been dragging at his mood since the appearance of Stu vanished.

  Let’s make the most of today. He repeated those words to his conscience.

  There was no need to mar today with anything as serious as who he was, what he did, where he lived. None of those things mattered. Now mattered. Their kisses, their clasped hands, whatever pleasure might come of their brief time together.

  It was all they’d have.

  Because it was completely clear to him that Glory was seamlessly integrated into this town of hers. She wasn’t leaving...and he wasn’t staying. Come January, he’d be back in LA, working with his keyboard instead of a paint brush. Glory would be with Stu again. Probably this time it would stick.

  Until then, she was on his arm and he hoped she’d be in his bed.

  If he could help it, neither one of them would regret their time together.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANGELICA WAS NOT nearly as reluctant to join Glory on a trip to Mr. Frank’s the next time ladies’ night came around. Not only was it clear that Glory needed cheering up, but Angelica would do just about anything to avoid the tension around the Walker cabins. It was ridiculous, sure, but the truth was, she could feel Brett breathing when she was in her bungalow and he was in his. If someone told her that their heartbeats were in sync, she’d not be surprised.

  It added up to nerves stretched to the breaking point.

  Glory paused with her hand on the door. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for this.”

  “That was my line last time,” Angelica said, and reaching around her shorter friend, she pulled open the door herself. “We’ll have fun. Forget about our troubles. I talked to my lawyer today. Nothing’s changed in my situation so that was his advice.”

  Glory glanced over and grimaced. “Sorry to be such a whiner. Even though you’re now living in one of the Walkers’ cabins, your problems are still bigger than mine. I should be used to relationships not working out for me, anyway.”

  They slid into one of the two-person booths along the wall in the bar area. Once they’d ordered from the prompt server, Angelica patted Glory’s hand. “What happened? When I saw Kyle last week, on that day you went to the fall festival, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

  “We had a great time.” Her gaze lowered to the tabletop. “Or at least I did. He kissed me...lots of times, and, Angelica...”

  “I recognize that moony expression,” Angelica said. “So what happened at the end of the ev
ening?”

  She shrugged. “He walked me to my car in the parking lot of the hardware store. There was another kiss or two. Smoking-hot kisses.”

  “Then...?”

  “Then I didn’t invite him back to my place. You know I don’t just hop into bed with men. And he’s essentially a stranger.”

  “I get that.”

  “I know you do. You’re cautious because of that creepy stepbrother of yours.”

  “Ex-stepbrother. But you’d think I’d be over it by now.” Angelica had told Glory a little bit about him one quiet morning in the store.

  “We never get over wanting to protect ourselves,” Glory said. “But you know what? You should consider putting yourself out there on occasion. If somebody appeals to you...go for it instead of shying away.”

  Angelica thought of the kiss she’d shared with Brett, the one he’d claimed sealed their friendship pact. How she’d wanted more! “Wouldn’t that be...”

  “Shameless,” Glory put in with a grin. “But a woman’s got to be a little shameless sometimes.” Then her smile died. “Maybe that’s where I went wrong with Kyle.”

  “You don’t want to be with some guy who’s not willing to wait until you’re ready for sex. That’s Woman 101.”

  “I was ready,” Glory admitted. “That’s what held me back. I thought we’d connected, really had something going on from the very first. But I worried I couldn’t trust it. Looks like I was right.”

  “Men suck,” Angelica said.

  The sound of laughter drew her attention away from her friend. Glancing past Glory, she saw a large crowd of people gathered around a couple of tables pushed together. As she watched, her gaze snagged on Brett. He held his beer aloft and made some comment that caused another roar of laughter from the men and women surrounding him.

  Then the amused expression on his face died, and his own gaze arrowed between two people sitting opposite the table from him. Across the room, he found her.

  Her body flashed hot. A sudden need to escape welled inside her and she grabbed for her purse, ready to run.

  “Here are your drinks.” The server placed white wine in front of both her and Glory.

  Glory. Angelica couldn’t just up and leave when her girlfriend needed support.

  Swallowing a sigh, she drew her glass closer to her and told herself to ignore the smoldering stare of her next-door neighbor. “So, back to the subject, Glory. There were smoking kisses, no sex and then...”

  “Then nothing.”

  “What do you mean?” She flicked a glance at Brett and then wanted to kick herself because he caught her looking. Redirecting her gaze, she addressed Glory again. “Did he tell you it was over?”

  “Why would he?” the other woman asked, her expression miserable. “To be over you have to have started something. It was likely all in my mind.”

  “He didn’t call—”

  “He said he’d come by Hallett’s—but hasn’t. As far as I know he doesn’t have my number. I don’t have his.”

  “He could phone the hardware store,” Angelica said.

  Glory’s mouth twisted. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So the long and short of it is that he isn’t interested enough to make further contact.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Perhaps you should have more faith in him—it’s only been a few days after all. There could be a logical explanation. Maybe he...” Angelica tried to think.

  “Broke both hands?” Glory suggested hopefully.

  “It could be a disease. A temporarily disfiguring one.” Through her lashes, she checked on Brett, who was leaning close to some bottle redhead. Too bad he wasn’t the sufferer of such an illness, she thought. Maybe if he didn’t possess that winning combination of features along with those intriguing, sexy scars she could forget all about him.

  “What about marriage? Maybe he’s got a wife and decided to go back to her.” Glory put her forehead in her hand. “I attracted a cheating bastard with a short attention span.”

  “You don’t know that,” Angelica said. “He didn’t seem married to me. More likely he has some condition that caused all his hair to fall out and he’s waiting until it grows back before he sees you again.”

  “Hair wouldn’t stop a guy,” Glory grumbled. “Maybe his dick fell off.”

  Angelica snickered.

  At the sound, her friend brightened a little. She lifted her wine toward Angelica’s. “To dickless, faithless philanderers!”

  Their glasses clicked, but then Angelica frowned. “Wait—why are we toasting bad guys?”

  Glory drained her wine, then put her fingers over her mouth as she gave a small, ladylike burp. She signaled the waitress for another round. “You’re right,” she said, sounding a bit tipsy. “To their dicks!”

  Angelica swallowed the last of her first glass and picked up the second that had just appeared on the table. “No, to their dicklessness!” She and Glory beamed at each other.

  “Ladies!” A man stood at their table, glancing between their faces. “What’s the joke?”

  Glory giggled while Angelica tried to hold it together. “Um...roosters?” Dicks, she tried telling the other woman silently. Cocks. Roosters. Get it?

  Her friend laughed so hard she nearly fell off her seat. Then she fanned her face with her hands and got herself under control. “Sorry, Jeff. Inside joke. Do you know Angelica?”

  “No, but I’d like to,” he said, with a friendly smile. “Wanna dance?”

  “Oh. Well.” Angelica didn’t often go to bars. She’d never danced with a man she’d met in one. Without thinking, she looked over to Brett’s table and noticed him watching her, his arms crossed over his chest. He appeared...watchful.

  As if he thought she needed a father.

  Well, she’d had one of those, and he’d left her flat and drained her dry. She only had herself to rely on and she resented that expression of his that seemed to imply she required a keeper.

  She had no use for one. But what she did need was some way to work out the tension that had been building for days. “Sure, I want to dance.”

  Not only was it ladies’ night at Mr. Frank’s, but apparently Mr. Frank had a penchant for country music. The DJ started a Blake Shelton tune. A howl came up from the crowd, and Jeff drew Angelica out of the booth.

  She didn’t know how to two-step, but the kind man took a few moments to teach her, and then they were moving with the others on the dance floor. If she stepped on his toes a time or two, he didn’t complain. A line dance came up next, and she fumbled through that, finally catching on about three bars before the end of the song.

  But it was breathless fun and for a few minutes she was only thinking about her feet and the correct direction to move them. A slow and sultry piece started playing and she began to return to her table when a different guy snagged her hand. He pulled her close and on beery breath he informed her he was Gordon. With a polite smile, she tried pulling free of his hold, but his grip was firm, and she didn’t find real cause for alarm.

  That was, until one of his hands wandered to her butt.

  “Uh, Gordon.” She tried wrapping her fingers around his wrist to redirect him, but he was dancing with his eyes closed and he seemed to be in his own little world.

  Now she tried breaking free of him altogether, but he only squeezed her tighter. Her breath caught in her lungs and incipient panic only made it harder to suck in air. The roof of her mouth was as dry as her tongue, and they only made a dull clicking sound as she attempted a louder protest.

  A memory stuck a claw in her. A dark room. Groping hands. The sound of a door being locked.

  Suddenly, Gordon was gone. Her heart racing, she swayed on her feet as her lungs seemed to compress. Her vision diminished, darkening from the edges inward, and as the floor rushed up, from faraway she heard a muffled oath. Then Brett had his arms around her, steadying her. His embrace was loose and she leaned in, her brow touching his shoulder. Hi
s big palm cradled her head.

  “Shh,” he said against her temple. “Just breathe in. Breathe out.”

  She obeyed, deliberately taking in the air she so desperately needed.

  As the song ended, so did her anxiety. Embarrassed by her overreaction, she stepped back, avoiding the gaze of her rescuer. “Thank you. He was kind of handsy and I was having trouble breaking away.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just go home.”

  “What?” She frowned and stepped off the dance floor, heading toward her table.

  Brett followed. “This is a locals hangout. There are more Gordons in this room. It’s not for you.”

  She’d been having fun until Groping Gordon. “He wasn’t that bad. I just had a moment of...nervousness.”

  “Listen. If you’re on the hunt for a sugar daddy, you won’t find him here.”

  Her feet halted and she rounded on him. “What?”

  “The trust-fund crowd, where you’ll find the likes of Vaughn Elliott, wouldn’t be caught dead line dancing at Mr. Frank’s on ladies’ night.”

  Vaughn Elliott? She wasn’t interested in the man. “That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself here.”

  “Tell me if I’m wrong,” Brett said, folding his arms over his chest. “You went to a finishing school.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Boarding school.”

  He shrugged as if they were the same. “A fancy college.”

  She mimicked his pose, folding her arms, one on top of the other. “Yes. So?”

  “You don’t belong here.”

  Angelica wanted to say she didn’t think she belonged anywhere, but that was beside the point the big jerk in front of her was attempting to make. “I’m no snob.”

  “Listen to me. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “I seem to be racking those up,” she said in bitter tones. Her gaze swept the room, returned to his face. “You know what? This is making me crazy. You’re making me crazy.”